Cargo Handler
by erindarroch
Summary: Smutty fluff. Fluffy smut. I regret nothing. Post-RotJ one-shot.
**Note:** I guess sometimes I need to read a little fluffy smut. Or smutty fluff? And if I can't find what I'm after, I write it myself. Please forgive the bad jokes. Those were all Leia's fault, honestly. I had nothing to do with them.

 **Cargo Handler**

 **by Erin Darroch**

As Han Solo listened to the heavy thud of Chewbacca's footsteps receding down the boarding ramp of the _Millennium Falcon_ , he heard his co-pilot hoot a greeting to someone in the Endor forest clearing outside. Lifting his head from his welding task, he pulled his protective goggles off and smiled to himself. The complex tones of the Wookiee's native tongue conveyed a distinct feeling of warmth and affection that told Han the identity of the visitor even before he heard the sound of her booted steps advancing up the ramp.

"Han?" Leia's rich alto voice echoed through the corridors of the resting ship. Han followed the sound of her movements as she made her way through the main hold and along the grated passageway that curved above his head.

"Down here," he called from the depths of one of the _Falcon_ 's more obscure storage compartments, tucked away at the back of the ship under the short corridor that led to the upper hatch lift. He set aside the fusion-welder he'd been using to re-secure one of the deep, wall-mounted shelves that lined the space, tossed his goggles down beside the tool, and then turned in the direction of the overhead gap.

He could hear Leia stepping with care around the piled cargo that crowded the ring corridor, then caught a glimpse of her shadow as she sank into a crouch at the open hatch. Han made his way over to stand beneath her, and looked up. She'd come dressed for work, he saw, in utilitarian military fatigues, with her sleeves rolled up and her hair tucked firmly out of the way in braids wound around her head. She also wore a broad smile, her dark eyes alight. She was the most beautiful sight he'd seen in weeks and he grinned up at her with unabashed delight.

In the four standard months since the Battle of Endor, they'd been apart for much longer stretches of time than either had anticipated. The Alliance was still scrambling to take advantage of their victory over the Empire by recruiting more systems to the cause and attempting to eradicate every remaining pocket of Imperial presence galaxy-wide. It was a monumental task and Han was now fully committed to doing his part, but his responsibilities seemed to be taking him in opposite directions from Leia for more extended periods of separation than he was willing to tolerate. Near the end of this most recent extended assignment—a series of brief but essential missions that had kept him away from the base on Endor for thirty standard days—Han had decided it was time to have a little chat with the princess about adjusting their working arrangements.

"Welcome home," Leia beamed at him, interrupting his thoughts. She leaned forward to grasp the far edge of the opening, just above Han's head. She was clearly preparing to drop down through the hatch. "Need a hand?"

In answer, he reached up for her and gripped her waist as she lowered herself through the gap. As soon as her feet touched the floor, she was in his arms, stretching up on tiptoe to cradle his face in both hands. Han tightened his arms around her and they shared a passionate, lingering kiss that filled him with a rush of relief and pleasure.

 _Too long, Sweetheart. Thirty days is too long._

The warm feeling that engulfed him now—the whole notion of _homecoming_ —was still a novelty to Han, and he'd been somewhat surprised to learn that it had less to do with a physical location than with having someone who missed him when he was gone, who worried about him and wanted him back; someone who loved him and made it a priority to spend time with him, as often as possible. The _Falcon_ had been his only home for almost ten years and—until he'd become entangled with the Rebel Alliance—Chewbacca and his family on Kashyyyk had been the only beings in the galaxy who genuinely cared whether Han lived or died.

But Leia cared; that much was abundantly clear. She kissed him with ardour and urgency now, clutching him close and moving her body against his, leaving no doubt as to her state of mind. She broke the kiss after a moment, smiling breathlessly up at him, her fingertips sliding through the hair at his temples, and curling around behind his ears. They gazed at each other for another moment in silence, then Han ran his hands down to her hips, pulled her tight against him and kissed her again. One kiss melted into another, and then another, as the heat surged between them. Leaving her mouth, he dragged his lips along her jaw before moving down the curve of her neck—kissing, nipping and sucking at her soft skin until he heard her moan.

He loosened his grip, pulled away slightly, and gave her a knowing grin. "I thought you were here to give me a hand with the cargo."

"Yes," she breathed with an exaggerated leer, slipping a hand down between them to press her palm against the front of his trousers. "I'm here to give you a hand with your cargo."

A sharp laugh erupted from him at her bawdy joke and he shook his head in mock admonition, but his chuckle soon turned into a groan as her fingers slowly, firmly rubbed against him. Encouraged by his response, Leia continued to stroke him, even as she pressed her soft lips against the hollow of his throat. Han tightened his arms around her, momentarily lost for words. He'd been looking forward to this moment almost since the day he'd left, and he was loath to interrupt what she was doing. The contrast between Leia's sober public persona and this _other_ woman—this humorous, playful, sexy Leia—never failed to give him a thrill. This was a side of the Alderaani princess that she showed only to him.

He angled his chin slightly to give her better access as she began nibbling her way up the curve of his collar bone. "You said you were going to be too busy to miss me much," he reminded her hoarsely, when he eventually found his voice.

"I _may_ have been deluding myself," she muttered. She touched his stubbled jaw with her free hand and guided his mouth back to hers.

Han kissed her thoroughly, revelling in the way her warm mouth melded with his, and the confident touch of her hand down below. This intimacy between them was another novelty, and sometimes Han still couldn't believe it had finally happened. As lovers, they'd had only a month together on the sub-light trip from Hoth to Bespin—a journey that Han was amazed to realize had taken place almost exactly a year ago. Then he'd been entombed in carbonite and taken away to decorate Jabba's palace on Tatooine. His rescue six months later had been followed almost immediately by the Battle of Endor, and then they'd been swept up in the flurry of activity as the Alliance sought to consolidate its power and keep the Empire on the run. He and Leia had enjoyed a handful of days together immediately after the victory at Endor, then intermittent spells of perhaps ten or twelve days at a stretch, punctuated by either his absence or hers from the Alliance's temporary base on the forest moon. Han fully understood the necessity of those absences, and he'd spent too many years on his own to be bothered overmuch by having to spend a few nights alone in his bunk. But thirty days was pushing it, and he wondered if Leia felt the same way.

She certainly seemed to share his sentiment, judging by the insistent way she was kissing and caressing him. For a long moment he simply luxuriated in the taste of her mouth, the feel of her body and the pleasure of her affection. He finally broke the kiss, though, and tried to focus on her face, despite the fact his eyes were starting to glaze over. He was determined to make his point before he forgot what it was. " _You_ said thirty days would pass in a flash and you'd hardly even notice it."

" _Clearly_ , I didn't know what I was talking about."

Her flat confession made him falter for a moment. He'd expected more of a protest or a denial—not because he thought she'd actually deny his point, but because bantering and teasing was just something they did. He stared at her for a minute, then grinned in triumph at her admission. "And you _also_ said—".

Abandoning her caresses down below, Leia growled under her breath and tugged his head back down to hers, silencing him with another searing kiss.

A rush of mindless lust gripped Han then and he backed up, half-lifting her the two steps it took to reach the deep metal cargo shelf that jutted from the hold wall. Turning her with him, he boosted her easily to the edge of the rack and was gratified to feel her wrap her legs tightly around his hips. He took advantage of the change in height to run his hands over her entire body, from ankles to hips and up to her breasts, gently squeezing and rubbing his thumbs over the stiffening nipples he could feel beneath the coarse fabric of her uniform top. She surged against him, arching her back and lifting her chin to encourage his kisses along her throat. The small compartment echoed with their laboured breathing, and the soft sounds of Leia's pleasure that Han delighted in eliciting from her.

The rational part of his brain—the rapidly diminishing part—knew that they were winding themselves up with nowhere to go, considering the tight space, the fairly public location and the limitations on their time, but he didn't care. They could spare a few minutes for these preliminaries, he reckoned, and then pick up where they left off later on, when their work was done.

Leia seemed to have other ideas, however. As hot as his own desire was, Han was nevertheless surprised to feel her tugging the hem of his shirt free, then running her hands underneath the fabric to caress his skin. Then, by a process of urgent shoves and tugs, she indicated that she wanted him to sit on the rack beside her. A moment later, he was rather more surprised when she grabbed his shoulders, swung one leg over him and settled astride his lap. He hitched back to rest more securely on the surface of the deep shelf, and she moved with him.

"We going for it, Sweetheart?" he teased, sweeping one hand behind him to knock the wads of packing and other litter out of the way. He wasn't objecting, exactly, but he was astonished at her audacity, especially in light of the fact that they would almost certainly be joined by multiple representatives of the unloading crew at any moment.

Leia paused and pulled away to meet his eye. "Sorry," she said, looking mildly self-conscious. "Too much?"

Han's startled laugh boomed in the small space. "Uh, no," he said firmly. "Not too much."

Although Leia was confident and fearless in most endeavours, Han was occasionally reminded that she was ten years his junior, and still relatively new to the world of sexual relationships— as evidenced by that uncharacteristic flash of self-doubt. In their brief time together as lovers, he'd been utterly charmed by her lack of artifice or guile when it came to initiating sex. She was as bold in the bedroom as she was in everything else she did, and he never wanted to discourage that particular characteristic. As additional reassurance that her enthusiasm was entirely welcome, he covered her throat in kisses and let his hands roam in increasingly intimate caresses of her body. He thought about her question, though, and chuckled again.

"In fact, it's not nearly _enough_ , Sweetheart, and that's the problem. There's no time. We're about to have company." He gestured with his chin in the direction of the upper deck where stacks of shipping crates were waiting to be offloaded. "Chewie went to notify the deck officer, and the crew's probably already on the way."

"I can be quick," Leia informed him with a suggestive lift of one eyebrow, tilting and moving her hips against him. "Can you?"

"You bet I can," he replied, then spared a thought for what that said about his prowess. He laughed ruefully at his own remark and saw that Leia was amused, too. "But it's more the public demonstration I'm thinking about," he continued. "I think Mon's still reeling from the shock of finding out you're slumming with a bum like me. You don't want one of the crew whipping out a recorder and splashing us all over the Holonet, do you? Because if that kind of thing flips your switch, I think we oughta at least get paid for it."

Leia mock-punched him on the shoulder, no doubt for that last suggestion, but probably also for the "slumming" comment, Han surmised. She'd been incensed to discover that there were some within the Alliance High Command who not only disapproved of her relationship with an ex-smuggler—no matter how valuable his subsequent contributions to the war effort—but who also thought Leia should offer both her royal title and her physical person as assets to help them secure political alliances through marriage. Leia had firmly rejected that suggestion the first couple of times it was put forward, then publicly lambasted the fool who'd had the audacity to suggest it a third time. In fact, she'd flattened the guy in front of the entire assemblage of High Command, with blistering invective that made Han glad she wasn't _his_ enemy. He'd almost felt sorry for the man— _almost_ —and for everyone else present who'd ever spoken of Leia Organa as a commodity to be traded. Han knew very well how formidable she was when she was angry. Hell, she was difficult to resist even when she was on his side and in a good mood.

That fact was never more apparent to him than now. Even as she nodded her reluctant acknowledgement of his warning, he felt the heat of her core intensify as she pressed herself more firmly against him and gave him a smouldering look. Curling her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, she leaned in to sweep her lips up the line of his jaw to his ear. His body's response was beyond his control. He groaned.

"C'mon, Leia." Han heard the faint note of pleading creeping into his voice, but he couldn't help it. She was killing him. "You're gonna make it hard for me to get any work done, y'know."

"Oh, am I making it hard for you?" She leaned back and smirked at him, clearly enjoying her newfound talent in ribald repartee.

He swatted her lightly on the hip. "And you have _got_ to stop hanging out with Chewie," he told her sternly. "He's a bad influence."

Leia grinned. "I love Chewie," she said simply. "And he's highly entertaining." She finally slid off of his lap—albeit with obvious reluctance—and dropped lightly to the floor to stand in front of him. Her braids were slightly messy and her lips were swollen from his kisses, but she was still in far better condition than Han was for being seen in public.

Before Han could respond to her remark, they both heard the tramp of booted feet coming up the _Falcon_ 's boarding ramp, along with the sound of several voices engaged in lively conversation, drawing nearer. Their time alone was over.

He stood up beside Leia, shifting somewhat uncomfortably and adjusting himself as she bit her lip to stop a smile. She had the grace to look apologetic as she stretched up to give him a chaste kiss on the lips.

"I'm sorry," she whispered against his mouth.

"No, you're not," he whispered back, but he smiled to show he wasn't really complaining.

She grinned and kissed him again, then took a step back and turned towards the open hatch. As she reached for the shallow hand- and toe-holds that would allow her to scale the low wall to reach the top, she turned back and fixed him with a serious gaze.

"Thirty days is too long," she announced, her tone suddenly all-business. "Just so you know. We're not doing that again."

Han grinned, pleased to know that she felt the same as he did about their extended separations. "I'm glad to hear it, Sweetheart. What's the new rule? No more than five?"

She snorted. "I'm not sure we can get away with that. Maybe twenty."

"Fifteen," he countered. "That's reasonable. I could live with that."

She gave him a broad smile and nodded. "Agreed." She turned and began climbing out of the hold.

"Although," Han mused, stepping over to stand beneath her as she climbed. He looked up, admiring the view, and began tucking the hem of his shirt back in. "I don't know what High Command's gonna say when we tell 'em they have to align your schedule with mine."

"Leave them to me," Leia said over her shoulder. Boosting herself over the top, she then swivelled around in a crouch to peer down at Han. "If they have a problem with those conditions, I'll tell them I'm resigning to take a better job."

"A better job?"

She arched an eyebrow. " _Full-time cargo handler._ "

He rolled his eyes, but couldn't stifle a laugh. She really, _really_ needed to stop hanging out with Chewie so much; she was losing her princessy demeanour. He grinned up at her, shaking his head slowly. "Oh, I'd hire you in a heartbeat, Sweetheart. In a heartbeat. But you gotta know—the pay ain't all that great…."

"I know." Leia's smirk turned into a wide smile as she gazed down at him, deliberately scanning him from head to toe. "But the benefits package is pretty good."

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

 **Many thanks** to beta readers jhgraham, suezahn, YellinYee and BonesBooth206.


End file.
